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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323248">A better Use for a Philosopher's Mouth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliriu/pseuds/Liliriu'>Liliriu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Philosophers, Rape, humilliating philosophers, kings - Freeform, oral rape, sucking your way away from the rope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:13:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliriu/pseuds/Liliriu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is why I cannot stand philosophers,” said the king, “they talk so much, it is a wonder that their mouths do not drop from their faces… Nevertheless, such a fair mouth as your own… Perhaps we can find it a more… productive use.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pierre Gringoire/Louis XI de France</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A better Use for a Philosopher's Mouth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Most of this shit is copypasted from the original, with a few minor changes:&gt;<br/>Also, I am a Philosophy grad student. And I love Pierre.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Your name?” asked the king to the second prisoner, who was perspiring in great drops.</p><p>“Sire, Pierre Gringoire.”</p><p>“Your trade?”</p><p>“Philosopher, sire.”</p><p>“How do you permit yourself, knave, to go and besiege our friend, monsieur the bailiff of the palace, and what have you to say concerning this popular agitation?”</p><p>“Sire, I had nothing to do with it.”</p><p>“Come, now! you wanton wretch, were not you apprehended by the watch in that bad company?”</p><p>“No, sire, there is a mistake. ’Tis a fatality. I make tragedies. Sire, I entreat your majesty to listen to me. I am a poet. ’Tis the melancholy way of men of my profession to roam the streets by night. I was passing there. It was mere chance. I was unjustly arrested; I am innocent of this civil tempest. Your majesty sees that the vagabond did not recognize me. I conjure your majesty—”</p><p>“Hold your tongue!” said the king, between two swallows of his ptisan. “You split our head!”</p><p>Tristan l’Hermite advanced and pointing to Gringoire,—</p><p>“Sire, can this one be hanged also?”</p><p>This was the first word that he had uttered.</p><p>“Phew!” replied the king, “I see no objection.”</p><p>“I see a great many!” said Gringoire.</p><p>At that moment, our philosopher was greener than an olive. He perceived from the king’s cold and indifferent mien that there was no other resource than something very pathetic, and he flung himself at the feet of Louis XI., exclaiming, with gestures of despair:—</p><p>“Sire! will your majesty deign to hear me. Sire! break not in thunder over so small a thing as myself. God’s great lightning doth not bombard a lettuce. Sire, you are an august and, very puissant monarch; have pity on a poor man who is honest, and who would find it more difficult to stir up a revolt than a cake of ice would to give out a spark! Very gracious sire, kindness is the virtue of a lion and a king. Alas! rigor only frightens minds; the impetuous gusts of the north wind do not make the traveller lay aside his cloak; the sun, bestowing his rays little by little, warms him in such ways that it will make him strip to his shirt. Sire, you are the sun. I protest to you, my sovereign lord and master—"</p><p>The king had had enough. He made a sign for Gringoire to shut the hell up.</p><p>“This is why I cannot stand philosophers,” he said, “they talk so much, it is a wonder that their mouths do not drop from their faces… Nevertheless, such a fair mouth as your own… Perhaps we can find it a more… productive use.”</p><p>“Oh, no, no, nononono…” thought Gringoire. He could sense where this was going, and he did not like it <em>at-all</em>.”</p><p>With another sign of his hand, the king commanded Gringoire to get on his knees. Gringoire did not want to obey, but he could not allow himself to be hung! He had to think about the world, about the future generations, what a terrible deed would it be to deprive them from the legacy of a mind as bright as his own!</p><p>Silently, he went down on his knees, allowed the king to harshly pull him by his blond hair, and obeyed again when he was instructed to take off his worn black clothes. The body underneath was gaunt and pale, and shiny with sweat. Not unattractive.</p><p>His face was torn towards Louis’ feet.</p><p>“Look at me,” ordered the king.</p><p>Gringoire did, and the king could appreciate that despite the few wrinkles and the fear reflected in his face, the man was still vigorous and young. His round eyes were sky blue, and his little mouth blood red. A very pretty mouth indeed. Louis slowly ran a finger through it. “Let’s see what he can do with this little mouth” he thought to himself.</p><p>He removed just enough of his own clothes to expose the royal cock. With one hand he caressed, a bit too forcibly, the poor philosopher’s neck.</p><p>Defeated, Gringoire did as he was expected. He stuck out his tongue from the little red mouth, and started licking the monarch’s member. He stretched his slim lips, and fitted it inside.</p><p>Pleased, Louis observed from above. He reached out to touch more carefully the young man’s hair, which was messy and dirty gold; and then the pale, fresh skin of his gaunt stomach. Once in a while, Gringoire would distractedly bat his long eyelashes as he kept sucking the sovereign’s cock. Not inexpertly.</p><p>“Let’s hear some syllogisms <em>now</em>,” said Louis.</p><p>His men celebrated the comment with a roaring laugh. Louis did not quite understand why – it was not <em>that</em> funny. Gringoire’s bony shoulders trembled, but he did not forsake his duty. The king decided that this was not an unpleasant young man. He was, in fact, kind of cute.</p><p>And when he was done, and Gringoire had carefully swallowed the bitter liquid until the last drop, Louis finally allowed him to pause. Quite out of breath, the philosopher raised his head tremblingly towards the king, who was carelessly starting to fix his clothes back. Then his majesty began to drink from the goblet of ptisan. But he uttered not a word, and this silence tortured Gringoire. At last the king looked at him. “Here is an acceptable whore!” said, he. Then, turning to Tristan l’Hermite, “Bah! let him go!”</p><p>Gringoire fell backwards, quite thunderstruck with joy.</p><p>“At liberty!” growled Tristan “Doth not your majesty wish to have him detained a little while in a cage?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” thought Gringoire, “the man was expecting a further… power display; and was now disappointed.”</p><p>“Gossip,” retorted Louis XI., “think you that ’tis for birds of this feather that we cause to be made cages at three hundred and sixty-seven livres, eight sous, three deniers apiece? Release him at once, the wanton (Louis XI. was fond of this word which formed, with <em>Pasque-Dieu</em>, the foundation of his joviality), and put him out with a buffet.”</p><p>“Ugh!” cried Gringoire, “what a great king is here!”</p><p>And for fear of a counter order, he rushed towards the door, which Tristan opened for him with a very bad grace. The soldiers left the room with him, pushing him before them with stout thwacks, which Gringoire bore like a true stoical philosopher.</p><p>Thus, Louis XI learned an important lesson in life: that God in His wisdom does not create beings without a purpose, and every man has a use. Even philosophers.</p>
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